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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24431638">The Morning After</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainydaysanddustybooks94/pseuds/rainydaysanddustybooks94'>rainydaysanddustybooks94</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Trip to the Trees [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff, Introspection, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Unreliable Narrator</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:07:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>869</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24431638</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainydaysanddustybooks94/pseuds/rainydaysanddustybooks94</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>One bed. Two bodies. Just because they have an "our side" now, doesn't mean his limbs can make their way across the bed to Aziraphale's side all willy-nilly.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Trip to the Trees [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764409</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Morning After</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sharing a bed should be easier by now, right? Right. They’d shared a bed six times before this. Six! And yet dawn was here, and Crowley had hardly slept because he was so concerned about relaxing enough for his limbs to find their way to Aziraphale’s side of the bed. He felt cranky, but soothed, a combination that irritated the heaven out of him. His muscles were tight from laying like a plank the whole night, but his heart was fluttering in response to the scent of Aziraphale being so close to his face. Five inches forward, and his face would be in Aziraphale’s curls. </p>
<p>	Speaking of, they’d left the curtains open the night before to star gaze, and now, the light was starting to fall across their pillows. Crowley’s head tingled at the memory of the night before. The room was dark enough that a human would be blind, but for them, it was easy enough to make out the shape of each other in bed. Both faced the window, (to Crowley’s relief) and exchanged quiet stories about times when they’d watched the stars in early centuries. Crowley even gave up a quiet story about a time Before, when he’d put together some of the stars in the Milky Way Galaxy. He talked about his ideas, how he felt when he was painting the stars, how he felt after hanging them. </p>
<p>	How much he missed creating them. </p>
<p>	It had been a late night vulnerability that wasn’t easy to offer up, but perhaps easier than other vulnerabilities that bit at his mouth, behind his teeth. Aziraphale had reached a hand back to pat his hip, and then quietly told him a story about when he’d given one of his books to a little girl who’d had her nose pressed up against the glass, eyes wide. Then, he told that story to Crowley, until he trailed off mid-sentence, asleep and snoring softly. </p>
<p>	Crowley shifted a little, and blinked. Came back to the present. He inhaled slowly, taking in the mulchy smell of the wood in the walls, and the musty-sweet scent that Aziraphale carried with him. Old books and vanilla. Carefully, slowly, he relaxed his muscles, and just looked at him. </p>
<p>	Stars, but he loved him. </p>
<p>	Aziraphale’s hair was smushed up into the pillow, and it would surely be half up, half down when he lifted his head. His eyes were gently drifting behind closed eyelids, and a soft smile curled across his face. Clearly, good dreams. Crowley bit back a grin and shoved his face into the pillow to silence a squeaking noise. He was just...so adorable. Ridiculously adorable, all of the time. </p>
<p>	As if he had heard Crowley’s thoughts, the angel stretched a little, groaned a little, then opened his eyes. Crowley startled, falling back into the plank hold on his muscles as they made eye contact. The blue was a bit of a shock against the pale background. But they were warm, quickly scrunching up as Aziraphale woke up more and more. </p>
<p>	“Mmmm….g’morning,” Aziraphale mumbled. “Sl’p well?” Crowley blinked slowly, horribly aware that he wasn’t wearing his sunglasses. He nodded silently. Aziraphale smiled back.<br/>
“Tha’s nice...so did I,” he said. His eyes briefly fell shut again. Crowley hummed quietly, and dared to reach out and pet the angel’s hair. Aziraphale sighed happily, wriggling closer. Electrified, Crowley continued to run his fingers through his hair. It was coarse, but fine, and easy enough to pet. He smoothed his fingers through the curls, scritching at the end, just where his hair met the nape of his neck. He switched to rubbing gently at the temples, then firmly massaged down to his shoulders, and then back to running fingers through the curls. They stayed like that a while, in silence. It was….nice. Eventually, Crowley realized Aziraphale had fallen back asleep. Lips quirked, he carefully extricated himself from the bed, and tucked the blanket around the angel. </p>
<p>	Softly, quietly, he tip-toed out of the room, then into the kitchen. It was short work to make a cup of coffee, and even shorter work to prepare the crepe batter and wash the fruit. He’d wait to cook the crepes until his angel woke up. In the meantime, he crept out onto the porch, and found a seat in the rocking chair facing the sunrise. The people who owned the cottage had been smart enough to prepare a porch for both sides of the house, with chairs and a swing to watch the sunrise and the sunset. </p>
<p>	It was the brisk kind of chilly, the morning air that’s sharp enough to taste, with a fog that rolled over the grounds. The sky bled from orange to pink to a pale blue that looked like someone had thrown into the wash too often. Well-worn. Crowley sipped at his coffee, breathing in the warm steam. It was easy to relax, here, knowing his angel was safe, not ten feet away, sleeping. No one around for ages. Just him, Aziraphale, and the wild woods. He tipped his head back, and dozed. A night of holding himself ever so carefully from his companion meant a tired morning. And he was just so comfortable....</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Disclaimer: These feelings are mine, but the characters are not. They belong to Neil Gaiman. That means I expressively do NOT give permission for re-posting on any of those awful apps that make you pay money to read the fics.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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